<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>More Than You Could Ever Know by onward_came_the_meteors</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055024">More Than You Could Ever Know</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors'>onward_came_the_meteors</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Avengers Tower, Christmas Fluff, Dancing and Singing, Domestic Avengers, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, M/M, POV Third Person, Post-Avengers (2012), Singing, Team Dynamics, The Avengers Are Good Bros, look at these dorks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:22:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29055024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/onward_came_the_meteors/pseuds/onward_came_the_meteors</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhodey had to raise his voice to be heard over the music. "Really, man?"</p>
<p>"I heard it playing a lot in stores," Steve mumbled. "Not knowing the words was driving me crazy."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So how <i>do</i> you get the Avengers to sing?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Avengers Team - Relationship, Bruce Banner/Thor, James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>More Than You Could Ever Know</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Songs used can be found in the end notes!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>Steve was starting to come out of unconsciousness. Not by choice—given the opportunity, he felt he would gladly take a nap for the next eleven hours or so—but really, he’d been lying here long enough. He was the captain. They had things to do. Things that did <em> not </em> involve remaining completely horizontal in this pile of rubble on the ground.</p>
<p>His eyes blinked open slowly, the lashes raking against the little pebbles of gravel clustered against his face. His entire body, suit included, felt coated in a layer of grime, and the sweat clinging to his skin was getting colder every second in the chilly December air. </p>
<p>He blinked again. There was something blocking up his ears, like a layer of heavy plastic had been wrapped around his head, but it gradually faded away as his surroundings cleared up and he raised his head from the dirt. </p>
<p>His shield was in his hand. Gripped so tightly there would probably be dents in his fingers later. But the shield meant a mission, and a mission meant…</p>
<p>
  <em> And there it is. </em>
</p>
<p>Touch, like the rest of his senses, was returning in a flood, and that was just about when Steve became aware of the hand tangled in his hair and the weight of somebody else's legs thrown across his own.</p>
<p><em> That </em> made him sit up. </p>
<p>It took a second to take it in, the five other bodies clumped together around him in a warm heavy solidity—a sensation that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but he could examine that later, when he wasn’t at risk of being slowly crushed into the dirt. </p>
<p>Somehow, the team that moments ago (okay, perhaps slightly longer than moments) had been mostly-fully-functioning Avengers had become a confusing mess of arms and legs and metal-plated armor everywhere armor wasn’t supposed to be and a bright red cape peeking out from where it wrapped around somebody’s waist and a thankfully-empty quiver that very likely would’ve taken somebody’s eye out if it hadn’t been such. Five sets of closed eyes, of half-open mouths, of limbs splayed out with uncharacteristic and utter abandon. </p>
<p>The way Steve saw it, there were three plausible reasons for how the team could’ve ended up in this position.</p>
<p>Everybody was breathing, so that ruled out one.</p>
<p>Everybody was clothed, so that ruled out another.</p>
<p>Scenario Number Three it was.</p>
<p>Steve let out a breath, rubbing his forehead. He remembered now. The world-destroying-event of the week had been in the form of some kind of advanced nano-bomb device (probably made of scavenged Chitauri tech, because that particular oversight was apparently never going to leave them alone) that, had it gone off, would have been capable of destruction on a mass scale… definitely not doing those predictions that New York City would be underwater in a couple decades any favors.</p>
<p>Had the bomb gone off properly, the team probably would’ve been vaporized on the spot, with only a few radioactive atoms of dust for the world to remember them by. As it was—after Tony had flipped the kill switch or cut the red wire or whatever the hell it was he’d been doing—the leftover energy pulse must have been enough to knock them all out, dropping them in a heap where they stood.</p>
<p>And Steve was somehow the first one to recover. </p>
<p>Not the only one, though. As he realized soon enough.</p>
<p>Clint’s voice was the first to break through the layers of ringing silence, muffled from where he lay face-planted in the dirt. “Am I dead?” There was a rustling noise as he flipped over. “Holy shit, are you guys dead?”</p>
<p>Steve’s laugh was choked by the dust in his throat.</p>
<p>“Present!” Tony called. There was a mechanical click as his faceplate opened. “Uh, are we doing roll call here?”</p>
<p>“I think everyone’s in one piece.” Natasha paused. “Now, Thor, if you’d kindly remove your knee from my rib cage—”</p>
<p>“Sorry.” Thor rolled away, and Steve felt the hand he’d been inadvertently using as a pillow slip out from under him. </p>
<p>Bruce was harder to spot at first, squished into a ball between Tony and Clint, and when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a jumble of long syllables dragged out into an incoherent groaning sound. </p>
<p>Clint nodded. “I feel you, man.”</p>
<p>“Steve’s being awfully quiet,” Natasha pointed out as she pushed herself up onto her knees. “Maybe he’s dead.”</p>
<p>Steve coughed out the remaining debris and sat up straighter. “Don’t count on it.”</p>
<p>There were a few halfhearted cheers (and boos—from Tony, he was pretty sure) before everyone managed to shove themselves back up to rough approximations of sitting positions. There was a moment in which they all stared, matching expressions of bewilderment on their faces as they took in the situation, before simultaneously jerking away from each other and standing up as quickly as they could without stumbling over themselves.</p>
<p>Once they were all upright, Tony made a show of covering his eyes with a metal-clad hand. “Bruce, c’mon, either clothes or sit down. Please.”</p>
<p>Bruce tugged at the shredded remains of what used to be pants as Thor stepped in front of him. “Sorry.”</p>
<p>Steve scanned the group, automatically taking a head count as he checked for injuries. Everybody seemed around the same level of disoriented as he felt, but despite the occasional hard blinking or tripping into a teammate, the effects were already wearing off. Other than that, he didn’t immediately notice anything other than the usual scrapes and bruises. “You guys alright?”</p>
<p>He received a mumbled “yeah” (Bruce), “no” (Clint), “enough” (Natasha), “just peachy, Cap” (Tony), and “where the hell is my shoe?” (Clint again, interrupting Thor’s “fine”). </p>
<p>Steve nodded. “Good enough for me.” He slung his shield over his back, hearing the click as his eyes drifted up toward the incongruously blue sky. </p>
<p>More details of the fight were coming back to him: noise, chaos, the sound of Iron Man’s repulsors booting up, Thor hurtling through the air vibrating with lightning, Natasha twisting to fire at something coming up behind him, the coms bursting with <em> who’s got eyes on the device it’s gonna blow any minute we have to clear the area what we need to do is FIND THE BOMB ROMANOFF wait I think I’ve got a location sending coordinates now— </em></p>
<p>On the whole, there was less destruction than usual left in their wake, especially considering… well, considering the nature of their mission. Unfortunately, <em> less than usual </em> was still a fair amount, and Steve felt his shoulders slump from something besides the shield’s weight as he cast his gaze around what was left of the street. </p>
<p>He wasn’t alone, either: half the team looked like they were still leaning most of the way toward unconscious, the slightest nudge in one direction enough to shove them all the way over. They might not need medical, but they sure as hell needed a bed. </p>
<p>Natasha broke the silence. “I’m pretty sure S.H.I.E.L.D. can handle the cleanup.”</p>
<p>A chorus of relief as the others murmured their agreement, and a couple nods that were barely more effort than a single slow bob of the head. Clint tripped onto Thor’s foot, and Thor prodded him off. </p>
<p>
  <em> Yeah, S.H.I.E.L.D. had better be able to handle this.  </em>
</p>
<p>It was honestly a miracle that any of them made it back to the quinjet without falling asleep on their feet. Steve supposed he could thank the fact that all of them had at least one—super soldier serum, godly lightning, or an astonishing amount of caffeine—running through their veins, but it was still an effort to keep his eyes open as he lowered himself down onto a seat. </p>
<p>Natasha and Clint settled themselves in across from Steve, using each other as a backrest while they slung off various weapons and equipment. Clint’s shoe was still missing, and Steve silently took note of the extremely hole-y Captain America sock poking out in its place. After relieving herself of her Widow’s Bites, Natasha went quiet, doing that thing where she stared off into space with the blank eyes. To anyone who didn’t know her, it might have been unnerving, but Steve was fairly sure she was only thinking about how many cycles it would take to wash the gunk off her suit this time.</p>
<p>In the back of the jet, Bruce was either already asleep or very, very, close to it, with Thor’s arm functioning as the only barrier between himself and face-planting on the floor. Thor himself was easily the most awake-looking of the group: eyes brightest, sitting up the straightest, smiling a bit as he shifted to pull Bruce more securely onto the seat. A few extra sparks of lightning from the battle were still flickering over his skin, reflecting off his armor and onto the floor like the beginnings of a disco ball. </p>
<p>Tony was the last one to board, emerging from his suit like he’d been hatched from some large, shiny, metal egg. He actually did trip a little on his way to the pilot seat, catching himself on a corner of the dashboard and quickly glancing up to see if anyone had noticed.</p>
<p>Steve busied himself with a loose thread in the lining of his utility belt as Tony slid into the pilot seat and the quinjet took off. </p>
<p>Once the initial roar of the engines faded into the background, the jet fell utterly quiet. <em> Too </em>quiet, apparently, because after the first few minutes of nobody saying a single word, Tony muttered something to JARVIS, and after a beat, the radio burst to life.</p>
<p>Steve didn’t know whether or not Tony noticed that the speakers were currently playing one of the regular radio stations instead of his personal playlist, but then again, Tony was also looking so out of it that Steve would be slightly concerned for his piloting capabilities if he weren’t positive JARVIS was sneakily handling most of the work in that area.</p>
<p>So instead of pointing this out, Steve just leaned back and listened to the string of commercials for insurance and seafood restaurants before an actual song came on.</p>
<p>He didn’t know what it was called (yeah, yeah, make fun of the nonagenarian, but catching up on the top forty had been slightly low on his priority list—at least a couple places beneath “the war is over now actually” and “here’s what happened to your loved ones” and “holy fuck Steve<em> Steve </em> you can’t put that in the microwave you’re going to start a fucking fire”) but this particular flavor of pop-song-boy-band didn’t exactly seem like any of their usual preference.</p>
<p>
  <em> Is this One Direction? </em>
</p>
<p><em> I think it </em> is <em> One Direction. </em></p>
<p>It really spoke to how drained everyone was that nobody commented on the song choice. He might’ve honestly been the only one who’d noticed.</p>
<p>
  <em> Wait. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Scratch that. </em>
</p>
<p>Someone else had definitely noticed.</p>
<p>Because that voice wasn’t coming from the speakers.</p>
<p>Steve turned to see Thor, whose head was tilted back against the seat, his cape folded around himself and Bruce like a blanket.</p>
<p>Thor was staring up at the ceiling, his fingers absentmindedly tapping off-rhythm on the arm of the seat while he mumbled along to the music. “<em>Baby, you light up my world like nobody else—</em>”</p>
<p>
  <em> Huh. </em>
</p>
<p>Steve glanced around, catching Natasha’s eye.</p>
<p>She smirked, and he shrugged, and they both nestled back to listen. </p>
<p>The song played on—somehow without Thor missing a word—and gradually both Clint and Bruce drifted awake: Clint’s eyes going wide as he yanked out his hearing aids to give them a suspicious look, and Bruce trying and failing to hide his smile. </p>
<p>As for Thor himself, either he was unaware that he had an audience or he simply didn’t care, launching into the chorus yet again with “—<em>you don’t know-oh-oh, you don’t know you’re beautiful—</em>”</p>
<p>His voice hadn’t gotten louder—everyone else had just fallen silent, taking it all in. The longer Steve listened, the longer he suspected that the reason nobody had interrupted Thor yet was because he actually… sounded kinda nice. </p>
<p>Nice in that the same voice that was so often the last thing enemies heard before being smacked into the ionosphere by a mythical lightning hammer—was now singing a ridiculous pop song. It didn’t hurt that he was staying remarkably in key, either. </p>
<p>Eventually, the song came to an end, just as Steve was beginning to nod off, and up in the pilot seat, Tony finally seemed to snap into it.</p>
<p>The reaction was instantaneous: Tony frowned down at the console before twisting around to look at Thor. “Were you <em> singing?</em>”</p>
<p>His tone of voice was extremely similar to the previous occasions when he’d said things like “<em>All </em> Asgardians can do that?” or “You can hold that for <em> how </em> long?” or “You put ketchup in the <em> where </em> now?”</p>
<p>(And he hadn’t received satisfactory answers any of those times, so Steve wasn’t sure why Tony expected now to be any different).</p>
<p>Thor blinked. “Hmm? Oh, yeah.” He stretched against the back of the seat, confirming it in Steve’s mind: he simply did not care. Thor might’ve lived for thousands of years (<em> might </em> have; Steve still had his skepticisms on that one) but self-consciousness was not an emotion that had made an appearance in any of them.</p>
<p>“Now I’ve heard everything.” Tony shook his head and said something to JARVIS, who obligingly switched off the radio.</p>
<p>Quiet was beginning to seep through the jet again, and so Steve spoke up. “Thor… that wasn’t half bad, by the way.”</p>
<p>Bruce’s emphatic nod nearly clocked Thor in the chin.</p>
<p>Thor grinned. “On Asgard, we often celebrate with music after our victories.” He paused. “Loki never enjoyed that tradition quite as much.”</p>
<p>“And thank you for that mental image,” Clint said under his breath.</p>
<p>Natasha leaned forward, her arms crossed over her knees. “Somehow, that wasn’t exactly what I’d expect from a Viking war ballad.”</p>
<p>Thor shrugged. “I’m not picky.”</p>
<p>“Clearly,” Tony muttered, and Steve laughed. </p>
<p>Thor continued as though Tony hadn’t spoken. “Although I do prefer the, ah, the…” He snapped his fingers and glanced at Bruce.</p>
<p>“Led Zeppelin?” Bruce offered.</p>
<p>“Led Zeppelin,” Thor repeated. </p>
<p>“That, I can arrange.” Tony tapped something on the control panel and the quinjet began to shake with the pulsing beat of classic rock that had Natasha pulling her head away from where she’d leaned it against the now-vibrating wall and Clint starting to air-guitar next to her. Bruce had, somehow, gone back to sleep (or maybe he’d just passed out again), and Thor was nodding his head back and forth to the new and evidently more appreciated music.</p>
<p>Steve felt a smile form as he gazed around the jet. The exhaustion from the mission hadn’t quite worn off yet—and probably wouldn’t for the rest of their flight back, not until they’d reached a shower and a bed and something to eat—but maybe their burden had gotten just a bit lighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Bruce was waiting.</p>
<p>He’d been waiting for a while now. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, ordinarily, if the waiting in this case hadn’t involved standing around in the hallway—and if the team hadn’t already been running late.</p>
<p>Late for <em> what </em>, he wasn’t entirely sure—another one of those events that were a combination of you’re-welcome-for-saving-the-day-yet-again and hey-sorry-for-all-the-stuff-we-broke-while-we-were-saving-the-day-yet-again. </p>
<p>The events that <em> really </em> should’ve been handled by Tony and his well-established media presence, or Steve and his ridiculous public approval ratings, or Thor and his literal centuries of experience in the spotlight, but somebody somewhere had decided that having all six of them drew in a bigger crowd. Or made better group photos. Or whatever.</p>
<p>Usually, Bruce could get away with avoiding these things entirely, but this time he hadn’t been <em> quite </em> fast enough on the uptake to think of a decent excuse. Besides, out of the entire team, he was really the one setting the curve for “breaking stuff while saving the day.” Even Thor’s occasional misfires with the lightning couldn’t really match a Hulk-smash. </p>
<p>Plus, there was something about seeing everyone dressed up—reluctantly or not—that was pretty entertaining, even if he would’ve preferred not to do so himself. Something about how having them all in one place, for whatever reason, was enough on its own to create that effect of <em> oh hey these are the Avengers</em>. One of them on their own wouldn’t do it, two would be a fun anecdote but not anything to write home about, three would turn some heads, and by the time it got to four or five they might as well just have the full set, but all six? <em> That </em> got the imaginary theme music playing in the background, <em> that </em> got the fear struck into the hearts of their enemies, <em> that </em>got the Avengers’ discount at the ice cream place on the corner. </p>
<p>And whether they were emblazoned in spandex and metal, lounging on the couch in their pj’s, or dressed up for an event that they were definitely already late for, that effect remained. </p>
<p>Not that Bruce had much to do in the way of dressing up—just pull on the suit and tie Tony had coerced him into getting, plop some stuff in his hair, and he’d be ready to go. It wasn’t like anybody would be looking at him, not when he was standing next to Captain Steve Rogers America.</p>
<p>So, yes—normally, Bruce wouldn’t have had any problems. Normally, he’d be the <em> last </em> person to be holding everybody else up. </p>
<p>In this case, though, he’d run into a slight complication.</p>
<p>Said complication being that his glasses were, at the moment, resting abandoned on a shelf in the bathroom—the exact bathroom which was currently occupied by a showering Clint Barton. And while the Avengers might’ve grown close since their first mission together, they weren’t quite at that point where walking in on each other in the shower was generally acceptable. Or desirable. </p>
<p>And, well… he’d like to be able to see. </p>
<p>So here he was—here he <em> had </em> been, for an amount of minutes that was uncomfortably many—shifting from foot to foot as he leaned against the wall across from the bathroom door. The shower noises thrummed in the background as he shoved his hands in his pockets, worrying with the inside of the fabric and extremely aware of each passing minute. He was honestly surprised nobody had shown up to physically drag him out to the car.</p>
<p>As though the thought had summoned him, JARVIS spoke up from wherever his speakers were hidden. Hopefully not <em> inside </em> the bathroom itself, although Bruce had lived with Tony long enough that at this point he’d become familiar with his friend’s boundaries—or lack thereof—when it came to his tech. </p>
<p>“Doctor Banner, if I might remind you of the time constraints—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, JARVIS, I get the picture.” Bruce waved a hand at the bathroom door, where a few wisps of steam were curling from the crack. “I’m doing my best.”</p>
<p>“Would you like me to switch on the cold water?”</p>
<p>Bruce grinned. “No, but thanks anyway.” <em> Super-spy-assassin-secret-agent-sniper training probably covers dealing with cold showers, right? And he’ll probably be done soon any— </em></p>
<p>The next sound to echo out of the bathroom was enough to change Bruce’s mind on that last part. Because unless Avengers Tower had been infiltrated by some very musically-minded alien shape-shifters, that was Clint singing.</p>
<p>Loudly.</p>
<p>And… well, he’d just say that there wasn’t any real competition between Clint’s and Thor’s respective skill.</p>
<p>The shower noise muffled some of the words at first, but as Clint got more confident in there, Bruce could pick out a few lines bouncing off the walls. </p>
<p>“<em>And now you’re back! From outer space!” </em> Clint’s voice dropped, mumbling through a couple words. “Um-hum-mm-uh-mm— <em> look upon your face!</em>”</p>
<p>Bruce winced once Clint got to “<em>—and I learned how to get </em> along<em>!</em>” and pulled his phone out of his pocket, checking the time. </p>
<p>
  <em> Yikes. </em>
</p>
<p>Back into his pocket went the phone.</p>
<p>A few minutes passed before Bruce heard footsteps approaching from down the hall, and then a very dressed-to-kill-in-the-literal-sense-looking Natasha emerged, raising her eyebrows as she spotted him.</p>
<p>“Hey, Bruce, you know we’re waiting for you down there.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I’m waiting too.” Bruce nodded to the closed door.</p>
<p>Natasha had been trained to notice everything around her, and the wavering voice drifting from inside the bathroom wasn’t an exception. She didn’t look surprised—of course she didn’t—instead sliding over to lean on the wall beside Bruce. “At least he’s moved on from ‘Wrecking Ball.’”</p>
<p>Bruce shuddered. Then he realized something. “He’s not wearing his hearing aids, is he?”</p>
<p>“In the shower? Nope.”</p>
<p>“That’s what I thought.”</p>
<p>It took considerably less time for Thor and Steve to find their way to the other two; it was freezing outside and waiting by the door couldn’t have been much fun. Their arrival was almost perfectly timed with an abrupt pause in the singing as—</p>
<p>
  <em> Clinkety clank clunk clank. </em>
</p>
<p>“Aw, fuck.” </p>
<p>There was more clattering as Clint presumably struggled to right the shampoo bottles, before the singing resumed (“<em>You think I’d lay down and die?</em>”) and more than one of their little cluster had to stifle laughter into their sleeves (Steve).</p>
<p>That was how Tony found them. He spared a brief glance around at each of them in turn—at their varying ability to hold a straight face that ranged from Natasha at one end to Steve at the other—before shaking his head and starting in.</p>
<p>“Okay, what gives? We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago and our window for being fashionably late is dangerously approaching the we’re-never-getting-invited-there-again late. Do you know how hard it is to find places where you guys aren’t banned from—” Tony stopped. Blinked. “Why are you all… all <em> congregated </em> in front of the bathroom.”</p>
<p>Bruce jerked his head at the door for the second time that day. Inside, the shower had finally stopped, and Clint sang the last few words—and sound effects—before trailing off. There was the sound of the shower curtain raking back against the rod and then: silence.</p>
<p>Bruce deadpanned. “There’s a line.”</p>
<p>Tony’s face was priceless. “Is somebody murdering small animals in there?”</p>
<p>The bathroom door banged open and Clint stepped out, barefoot and wet-haired and stopping short when he noticed the small crowd waiting for him.</p>
<p>“The hell?” Clint looked at Natasha as though hoping for an explanation: one that he did not receive. “What are you creeps… you know, next time you guys want a group shower, I’d rather you ask.”</p>
<p>His narrowed eyes cut to Tony, who held up his hands.</p>
<p>“Hey, don’t look at me. I just got here.”</p>
<p>Thor coughed. “I also just got here, for the record.”</p>
<p>“Sure, Thor—” Steve started, but Natasha was already speaking over him.</p>
<p>“Bruce was the only one here when I showed up.”</p>
<p>“Traitor,” Bruce muttered. He shrugged apologetically when Clint turned to stare at him.</p>
<p>“How does everyone think you’re the nice one?”</p>
<p>Bruce caught Natasha’s grin as he leaned forward into the bathroom to pluck his glasses from the shelf. </p>
<p>“I thought we had someplace to be?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Clint Barton had been an Avenger for two years, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent for thirteen, and what the majority of people in his life lovingly referred to as a “problem” for thirty-four, so, yes: he had been a kidnap victim before. On several occasions. It was all part of the job, a part that training and close calls and experience had turned into a second nature. He was no Black Widow, but he could wiggle out of handcuffs, pick locks, or jury-rig a basic communication device to call for backup without undue stress, and the whole thing would end up as a fun story to tell over dinner.</p>
<p>Somehow, though, Steven Grant Rogers was proving to be harder to escape from than the most infamous of crime bosses. </p>
<p>Clint climbed out of the car, shutting the passenger side door behind him. “So, you didn’t tell me what we’re doing here yet.” The wind blew away some of his words, and he raised his voice. “Just in case, you know, you ever wanted to do that. If you didn’t, it’s fine—I’m totally fine with not knowing why I’ve been kidnapped—”</p>
<p>“I did not kidnap you,” Steve interrupted. His hands slid into his pockets to escape the biting wind, bunching up the material of his jacket—<em>and is he wearing his whole Cap outfit under there? </em></p>
<p>“—<em>kidnapped </em> from a perfectly good episode of Cake Wars in that rare, rare time Nat isn’t around to change the channel on me, so this had better be good,” Clint finished. He hadn’t gotten to ask many questions on the drive over—every time he’d opened his mouth, Steve would lean over and turn up the radio a little more. </p>
<p>And he still listened to the <em> old people stations. </em>Clint had been about two seconds away from taking out his hearing aids by the time they’d arrived. </p>
<p>Steve sighed. “It’s for charity.”</p>
<p>“Then why the hell did you bring me?”</p>
<p>It wasn’t a big secret that Clint was no Tony Stark, and was in fact, as the kids called it: “broke as shit.”</p>
<p>Steve didn’t answer at first, and Clint had to speedwalk after him through the parking lot. Sheesh, the guy had long legs.</p>
<p>“I’m not wearing tights,” he said breathlessly, once he’d caught up.</p>
<p>Steve started to count off on his fingers, as though there hadn’t been any pause in the conversation. “Nat’s on a mission, Tony’s on the other side of the country, not sure where Bruce went but this isn’t really his scene anyway, and I don’t think Thor has answered his phone ever, so… yeah, I brought you.” He stepped under the awning of the building. “That answer your question?”</p>
<p>Clint shook his head. “Way to make a guy feel wanted.”</p>
<p>“If it makes you feel better, I’m sure you could pull off the tights.”</p>
<p>Steve ducked inside the building after that, the collar of his jacket not enough to hide the mischievous look on his face, and Clint stood still muttering “S’cuse me?” for long enough that the door began to close in his face, and he had to move fast to make it inside.</p>
<p>It was warmer inside the building—it wasn’t officially winter yet, but it was December in New York, and Clint was grateful that somebody had taken the incentive to turn off the air conditioning—but there weren’t many markers to pinpoint exactly what this place was. Steve had mentioned “charity,” and that tracked: the setting was just professional enough that Clint automatically hunched down in his hoodie.</p>
<p>He would have put on something else if he’d known where they were going, but because Steve was an asshole, he’d just sent out a text that said “<em> avengers assemble.” </em>So Clint had fucking assembled. </p>
<p>Only once he’d gotten in the car did he realize said text had not, in fact, been sent to the group chat, and by then it had been too late. Now he just felt like a disgruntled teenager that someone had dragged out of his room to play family Ping-Pong. Or something like that—Clint didn’t have a particularly normal perspective on whatever regular families did. When he was a teenager, he’d been learning how to do somersaults with flaming arrows.</p>
<p>Clint snapped back to the present as the sound of voices began bubbling up in his ears. The people at the desk were positively thrilled that Captain America and some guy had shown up, and Clint was free to hang back as Steve made conversation or signed dotted lines or whatever he was doing to fill in the small-talk gap before the charity people began to lead the two of them down a hallway.</p>
<p>Clint had been wondering what “charity” meant in this case; turned out the answer was just “being the Avengers and also moderately photogenic.” Steve handled most of it, which was just fine with Clint, and seemed to work out great for the charity people as well, since they didn’t seem to have much to do with Hawkeye. All he did was sign some things, and then pose for a few photos with Steve (that part, at least, was entertaining: Clint got to see just how “intimate” he could make their professional bros-being-dudes-shoulder-linking pose look before Steve started to squirm and the cameraperson raised his eyebrows and suggested they “loosen up a bit”).</p>
<p>Then, of course, they wanted Steve for some things on his own, so Clint found a folding chair in the back and worked on his Flappy Bird score for a bit. He only drifted back into paying attention once he heard Steve’s coughed-out “Come again?”</p>
<p>
  <em> Interesting. </em>
</p>
<p>Clint looked back over to see Steve, still in full Cap regalia, talking to a cluster of charity people, and for the first time all day looking like he wanted to escape. That was enough of a role reversal for Clint to turn his hearing aids back up, and the conversation from the other side of the room flooded in.</p>
<p>“I mean… the lyrics are a little outdated, don’t you think?” Steve was saying. </p>
<p>One of the charity people—their back was to Clint; all he could see was a clipboard—shook their head. “No, it’ll be a perfect throwback. People will love it, I can practically guarantee.”</p>
<p>Steve didn’t startle as Clint popped up over his shoulder, but he did look like he was regretting a few life choices.</p>
<p>Which only intrigued Clint further, of course. “Hey, Cap, what’s up?” </p>
<p>“Uh.” Steve reached an arm behind him as though to pull one of the red stripes on his suit back into place. Even though it had never been <em> out </em>of place to begin with, because the suit fit him completely absolutely perfectly because of course it did. “You ever hear the…” He sighed. “The ‘Star-Spangled Man With a Plan’ song?”</p>
<p>Clint stared. He stared for several moments. Slowly, his face split into a huge grin. “Yes. Yes yes yes, you gotta do it, Cap. This is the best day of my life. Do it, do it—”</p>
<p>“Please stop chanting.”</p>
<p>“<em>Do it</em>—” Spotting Steve’s face, Clint switched back from whispering, but he still couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh man, this is gonna be so great.”</p>
<p>Everyone else in the room clearly missed the irony, because they were all nodding in agreement. </p>
<p>Clint could already see Steve caving.</p>
<p>Approximately eight minutes later, Steve was all set up and clearing his throat awkwardly into the microphone. Clint was back in his folding chair—it was his now; he’d claimed it as his own, everybody else could deal with it—and frantically trying to clear up storage space on his phone because Natasha would <em> kill </em> to see this and he was pretty sure this would spur Tony to invent a way to frame videos and hang them on the wall. </p>
<p>“Ready when you are, Captain Rogers,” one of the camera guys called, and Steve gave a single nod. His foot was tangled in a cord.</p>
<p>“Uh, should I just… yeah, okay.” He cleared his throat again, winced at the feedback, and the next time he opened his mouth, the opening bars of “Star Spangled Man” came out. </p>
<p>Clint had to shove a fist in his mouth to hold back a laugh—clearly, even seventy years of brain freeze hadn’t been enough for the guy to forget the lyrics. He half expected a motorcycle of spangly-dressed chorus girls to come riding up and join in on the accompaniment. </p>
<p>Based on the recordings in old S.H.I.E.L.D. files, a couple of badly edited YouTube videos, and about five minutes of some historical cultural documentary thing that Coulson had tried to make him watch once, this song <em> was </em> meant to be played with a band and background dancers and fireworks and the whole shebang, so the empathetic teammate part of Clint supposed he should cut Steve some slack.</p>
<p>The reigning majority of Clint, though, was practically shaking with holding in giggles as Steve bent into the microphone—someone had forgotten to adjust the height, and, well, too late now—his forehead wrinkling up and his voice jumping from flat to way-too-low to way-too-high in the space of a few notes.</p>
<p>Steve’s voice audibly cracked somewhere around “—<em>shore to shore for America—"</em>, which pretty much cemented it in Clint’s mind that his teammate would never do this if it weren’t for a good cause. </p>
<p>Steve rushed through the ending of the song, finishing it up with some awkward hand waves that looked suspiciously like jazz hands, and made a face as Clint started loudly clapping and the charity people suddenly got very interested in their clipboards.</p>
<p>And Steve, being Steve, apologized. “I know, I know.” To his credit, he didn’t look overly embarrassed—he just shrugged in a way that said <em> don’t say I didn’t warn you. </em> “There’s a reason I was never the one doing the song on the USO tours.”</p>
<p>Clint’s grin got wider.</p>
<p>Once the business was all finished up and the charity people assured Steve that <em> no, that wasn’t a complete trainwreck; we can absolutely find some scraps of use and edit them to within an inch of their lives </em> (not in those words, naturally), Clint replaced his folding chair where he’d found it. The motion of standing up must have been enough for Steve to notice him again, because his eyes widened in a way that implied he’d forgotten Clint was there.</p>
<p>“Natasha’s not gonna hear about this,” Steve said in an undertone, waving at the people behind them as they headed back out to the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Not a word,” Clint promised.</p>
<p>He slipped his phone back into his pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Sometime during the previous night, Tony’s face seemed to have merged with the pillow. He wasn’t entirely averse to this—it was comfy and warm from body heat, and pressing his eyelids against it meant they were effectively blocked from the light—but it did pose a certain dilemma as far as breathing was concerned.</p>
<p>Finally, Tony couldn’t take it anymore—arc reactor, decreased lung capacity, all that jazz—and rolled over, squinting at the offending line of sunlight coming in through the crack in the curtains and mounting unfairly strong evidence against his case that it <em> could not possibly be morning yet come on.  </em></p>
<p>Another thing not helping his case was the presence of a certain Rhodey Rhodes stretched out next to him, stifling laughter at something on his phone.</p>
<p>Tony flip-flopped back and forth a couple times, thoroughly entangling himself in the sheets, before giving up and opening his eyes. “I think you should know I’m reconsidering.”</p>
<p>“Reconsidering what.” Rhodey didn’t even look up. Or seem at all surprised that Tony was awake, considering that Tony had been highly confident in his ability to impersonate an immobile corpse.</p>
<p>“You. In the bed.”</p>
<p>“This is my bed.” </p>
<p>“I bought the bed.”</p>
<p>“And you gave it to me—ergo, ownership transferred.” Rhodey was smiling still; there were pillow marks across one cheek, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Also, you’re drooling.”</p>
<p>Tony swiped a hand across his mouth. “I was also asleep until very recently. Hence this entire conversation.”</p>
<p>Rhodey chose to ignore that. The blankets had to slip off his upper body in order for his hand to reach the phone, giving Tony a view of the muscles in Rhodey’s arms that ordinarily, he would’ve been perfectly content with. Today, though, he was more curious. </p>
<p>Tony propped himself up on his elbow. “Hey.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Pay attention to me.”</p>
<p>“No. What? I thought you were trying to sleep.”</p>
<p>“I was, but somebody wouldn’t let me rest—and also what is it you’re doing there, by the way, what are you looking at that has you so enthralled—”</p>
<p>“I changed my mind,” Rhodey said. “You can have the bed.” He didn’t move, however—actually, scratch that, he <em> did</em>, but only to shift over and tilt the screen of his phone so Tony could see it. </p>
<p>Tony blinked. The brightness was not helping his already-formed headache, but staring at screens for extended periods of time was basically his specialty, his career, and his livelihood all rolled into one. If his retinas hadn’t built up an immunity by now, they never would.</p>
<p>“JARVIS showed me the footage from, ah, from last night.” Rhodey paused, and Tony got the feeling that they were both wondering the same thing: how many times <em> that </em>particular sentence had been said.</p>
<p>JARVIS probably knew the answer.</p>
<p>Tony didn’t ask.</p>
<p>“Did he now,” was what he said instead.</p>
<p>JARVIS’s voice promptly issued from the ceiling. “Indeed, sir.”</p>
<p>“That was way too close to malicious compliance; I don’t like it,” Tony muttered, but then he looked back over at Rhodey’s sparkling eyes and sighed. “All right, what is it?”</p>
<p>His headache wasn’t <em> that </em> bad, after all, and he was pretty sure he and Rhodey had been hangin’ with the rest of the Avengering crew last night, so the fact that he hadn’t woken up to blaring sirens and the tower collapsing around him meant that things couldn’t have gotten <em> too </em> out of hand. Or more out of hand than they normally did when all of them were in a room together: <em> that </em> tended to veer into either Battle of New York territory or the Great Go Fish Incident of 2013 territory.</p>
<p>(Out of those two incidents, one had involved a hole through the penthouse floor, the near destruction of the Iron Man suit, Steve’s helmet ending up down a sewer, and Clint with a mild head injury).</p>
<p>(The other had involved Loki).</p>
<p>“Well, first things first.” Rhodey tilted his head. “How much do you remember?”</p>
<p>Tony frowned. Then he perked up. “Alcohol.”</p>
<p>“Not… incorrect.”</p>
<p>“How come you look fine, then?”</p>
<p>“‘Cause I didn’t do shots with the god of thunder, c’mere.”</p>
<p>Tony mumbled something—he wasn’t even sure what—and leaned up to burrow further into Rhodey’s side. Somehow, despite the fact that the entire tower was run by an all-but-omniscient A.I. with the ability to control almost every aspect of the indoor environment, the ceiling light was still entirely too bright. </p>
<p>He could feel the weight of a head leaning on top of his own and the vibration of vocal cords against his cheek as Rhodey continued. “So, do you want to see or not?”</p>
<p>“Well, the last time you showed me something, it was a video of a snake playing the piano, so…”</p>
<p>“Hey, that snake was adorable, don’t even deny it.”</p>
<p>“I thought you didn’t like snakes.”</p>
<p>“Nah, snakes are cool. I don’t like scorpions, because they should not be shaped like that, but you’ll be pleased to know this video is neither a snake nor a scorpion.”</p>
<p>“Right up my alley, then. And you seem highly entertained by whatever this is, so by all means.”</p>
<p>Rhodey’s jaw was set with the effort not to laugh. “I am. I am very highly entertained.”</p>
<p>“This is not the first time I’ve been drunk and stupid, you know. Actually, I think ‘Drunk and Stupid’ is a valid section title on my Wikipedia page, right after ‘Early Life.’”</p>
<p>There was a shift as Rhodey shrugged. “True, but I haven’t heard you sing since we were in college.”</p>
<p>“<em>What</em>.” Tony made another grab for Rhodey’s phone, this time succeeding. A video was paused on the screen, and he rewound it to the beginning as Rhodey wiggled his earbuds out of the plug. </p>
<p>Despite Tony now holding the phone, which by all recognized practices meant he should rightfully have control of the buttons, Rhodey still reached over to fast-forward the first few minutes, muttering “Don’t care about that, not important, not important—” throughout the whole process.</p>
<p>Tony watched the little fuzzy figures move unnaturally fast across the screen. “Hey, is that you with the War Machine gauntlet—hey, quit skipping stuff—”</p>
<p>“Here we go,” Rhodey interrupted, finally letting the video play, and Tony obligingly shut up.</p>
<p>The video was now showing—<em> called it</em>—the Avengers, grouped around the central area downstairs in varying states of inebriation. The single active light reflected off the window glass, clouding the view of the star-speckled night sky and casting shadows around most of the room, but Tony had no trouble picking out his teammates. They did tend to catch the eye.</p>
<p>Natasha and Clint, both wearing an amalgamation of sweatpants plus the tops from their uniforms, were doing… <em> something </em> in the corner that could’ve been dancing but also could’ve been practicing methods of assassination.</p>
<p>Thor and Bruce had already stumbled off to another room a few moments before the video started—the sight of Mjolnir lying abandoned on the couch was the only trace that they’d ever been there at all. </p>
<p>As for Rhodey and Steve, they were both gathered in the center, whatever half-idea of dancing they might’ve had completely abandoned as they stared. Their expressions reminded Tony of that cliche about not being able to look away from a car accident in progress.</p>
<p>Which was highly unfair, in his opinion, because if there was anything about Tony that <em> couldn’t </em>be so easily likened to a car accident in progress, it was the fact that his video-self was remarkably good at staying on the rhythm—considering he was drunk and all.</p>
<p>The song playing was “Holding Out for a Hero,” and video-Tony was… into it. Extremely. </p>
<p>They watched as the onscreen Tony jumped into Rhodey’s arms, Rhodey instinctively catching him as the surprise weight spun them both sideways—right before he expressionlessly dropped Tony to the floor. </p>
<p>The real Tony wondered for a moment what was wrong with video-Steve—why was he shaking like that?—but then Steve lifted his hand away from his face, revealing the tear tracks down his face as he laughed helplessly. </p>
<p>
  <em> Probably the first time he’s seen something that isn’t swing dancing. That’s what they had back in his day, right? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Either that or he’s unappreciative of my obvious skills.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Fuck Steve.  </em>
</p>
<p>They watched for a little longer before Tony spoke up. “I mean, whatever you’re gonna say, you have to admit my falsetto game is on point.”</p>
<p>Rhodey took his phone back and studied it. “Hmm.”</p>
<p>“You sound skeptical.”</p>
<p>“All I’m saying is don’t quit your day job.” The phone slid back onto the nightstand.</p>
<p>“C’mon, you love it.”</p>
<p>Rhodey rolled back over, the barest hint of a grin visible before the pillow crumpled and blocked the rest of his face. “Next time we’ll have to duet.”</p>
<p>“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.” Tony peeked at him, but Rhodey didn’t answer. Maybe he physically couldn’t, actually, given how many layers of blanket were currently piled on top of him. Whatever people said about military folks having trouble sleeping in a too-comfortable bed was bullshit. Or maybe Rhodey had just been ruined from spending half his life in living areas designed using a billionaire’s bank account. Or it was just really cold outside (if Thor had turned on the air conditioning again, Tony was kicking him out—he didn’t care if that caused an intergalactic incident, it was goddamn December). Or maybe some combination of the above. </p>
<p>The pillow hadn’t gotten any less comfy, though, and Tony was still exhausted, so he put the thinking on hold for a while and wrapped an arm around Rhodey’s back, letting his eyes slip blissfully shut.</p>
<p>He wondered how many of the team would be up for a karaoke night.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Rhodey hadn’t been on many Avenger-grade missions before, and he’d be lying if he said the culture shock wasn’t throwing him for a loop.</p>
<p>And the flying-blind-through-onslaughts-of-sentient-piles-of-goo-with-motion-reactive-laser-beams. That too. </p>
<p>“So you’re telling me these aren’t even the only mutated sludge monsters you’ve fought this month?” Rhodey soared over the rather gouged-looking landscape, the War Machine helmet set to coms and thankfully bearing no damage that a decent car wash couldn’t fix. He scanned the snow-dusted area as he went, but this particular mission had taken them upstate, at least a couple hours away from anything in the way of potential collateral damage. Which was good, since collateral damage had definitely occurred. </p>
<p>“What’s the matter, platypus, your training never covered that?” Tony’s teasing tone morphed into one of disgust as a wet plopping sound echoed over the coms. “Ew, and I think these ones had actual tentacles.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t need to say that—I didn’t need to know that, Tony, come on, it’s gonna be a while before I can get out of the suit and wipe it down—” Rhodey broke off and sighed as Tony’s laugh staticked up their channel. The rest of the team was here as well, and hopefully their silence meant they were focused on the cleanup and regrouping effort. </p>
<p>The actual likelihood of that scenario was about point zero zero zero one, but he could at least try to think optimistically.</p>
<p>He continued. “See, usually, my job just handles people—regular, non-irradiated, non-chemically-enhanced people <em> from the planet Earth</em>—people with guns. And then how it works is I will also have a gun, bang-bang, we go home. That’s it.”</p>
<p>A trail of slime oozed its way down the suit’s eyeholes. Not for the first time, Rhodey wished for a windshield-wiper option.</p>
<p>“I’m not buying that. You’ve been War Machine for a good stretch; I don’t think they send out something like that for the bang-bang ops.”</p>
<p>“Last time I checked, War Machine does have guns.”</p>
<p>Tony gasped as though mortally wounded. “And it <em> flies</em>!”</p>
<p>“What do you think the Air Force is?” Rhodey grinned, and the long-suffering noise from Tony made him picture so clearly the image of Iron Man rolling over mid-flight, the back of a metal hand coming up to brush dramatically against the forehead.</p>
<p>Natasha spoke up, her voice dry with amusement. “That sounds like the opening to a bad joke.”</p>
<p>She and her partner in crime (<em>partner in </em> fighting <em> crime?</em>) were usually on the same wavelength, and so Rhodey wasn’t surprised when Clint chimed in a second later with “What has guns, a bad attitude, and flies?”</p>
<p>“What has a bow and arrow and a—” Rhodey started on instinct, but Steve interrupted in his Captain Voice that today seemed to be doubling for his Why-Am-I-the-Captain Voice.</p>
<p>“Could we please cut the chatter so we can make sure no one got eaten by the sludge monsters?”</p>
<p>“Anything for you, Cap.” Tony grinned.</p>
<p>Steve’s sigh caused another flow of static.</p>
<p>The headcount ran through Natasha, Rhodey, Clint before stuttering to a stop at Thor. Rhodey had a split second to wonder if that was a cause for concern before Tony was already tracking his com signal. </p>
<p>“He’s out of range.” Tap. Tap. “Hey, Sparky, get your ass back here, we’re still on the clock.”</p>
<p>There was a rushing sound—completely at odds with the calm, windless snowfall around them—as Thor’s slightly muffled voice echoed out to defend himself. “I am not out of range, I’m sweeping the area.”</p>
<p>Clint snorted. “You sure you’re still <em> in </em> the area?”</p>
<p>A pause. More muffled noises. Whistling wind. “... yes.”</p>
<p>Rhodey shook his head inside the helmet as Steve jumped back in to continue the headcount. </p>
<p>This was a relatively new occurrence for him: rolling with the Avengers. War Machine was technically still under the jurisdiction of the U.S. military—although they’d finally stopped pressing the Iron Patriot issue, thank god—and the Avengers were… recently self-employed, but whenever they needed an extra pair of hands—or repulsors—Rhodey wasn’t about to pass it up.</p>
<p>(<em>“We’re not doing the whole New York thing again, Tony—if anything else happens, you should have someone on your six.”  </em></p>
<p><em> “Aw, you do care.”</em>)</p>
<p>And after all, somebody had to demonstrate the real way to fly a suit.</p>
<p>Steve was still talking, but roll call hour seemed to be wrapping up. “Did I hear Banner in there?”</p>
<p>“Nope,” Clint said. “He’s—”</p>
<p>A roar reverberated in the background of somebody’s com.</p>
<p>Clint sighed. “Yeah. He’s that.”</p>
<p>“Not it,” Tony quickly claimed, but Rhodey could already see the distant splotch of red curbing in midair and making a loop back around above the treetops. He supposed it was just a coincidence that it was flying right in the direction of the kicked-up snowdrifts and smashed-apart tree branches.</p>
<p>Right. </p>
<p>Rhodey only hovered for a moment before angling his suit in the same direction and soaring after Tony. As he flew, he sent out their position to the rest of the team. “I guess this is as good a spot to reconvene as any, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Sure, why not.” There was a <em> shiiink </em> as Steve’s shield clicked into place over his back. “Hopefully he’ll be calmed down by the time we get there.”</p>
<p>The Hulk was not calmed down by the time they got there.</p>
<p>Rhodey’s boots crunched in the snow as he touched down, his faceplate retracting and letting in a rush of brisk air. It didn’t take long for his eyes to adjust to the grayish sunlight, and he glanced around at the more or less half-assembled Avengers as the ground shook again with the force of a giant stomped foot.</p>
<p>Maybe he should put his faceplate back up, actually. </p>
<p>Before he could, Tony lifted off again, darting up and over like some bulky metal hummingbird and coming to circle around the Hulk’s radius of freak-out. The distance at which he was hovering was… not large: certainly not enough to avoid the shower of pine needles as the Hulk tore a thick branch from a nearby tree with a rough <em> snap </em>.</p>
<p>The branch was coated with icicles, and the Hulk cocked his head, bringing it up close to his face to examine. Rhodey was convinced for a full twenty seconds that a green tongue was going to poke out and lick the branch before the Hulk snorted and snapped it in half. Chunks of ice and wood scattered around his feet, bouncing around in new directions as he surged to another side, this time taking out his frustrations on a nearby clump of boulders. The low rumbling of “Stupid rocks” could clearly be heard.</p>
<p>So apparently the battle hadn’t blown off enough steam. </p>
<p>“Hey, Tony, you sure about this?” Rhodey called.</p>
<p>Tony did another loop. “Yeah, why?”</p>
<p>“‘Cause the ratio of the Hulk to you is… well, next to him you look a lot like a fly,” Rhodey said. He bent a hand to shield his eyes as he looked up. “And, uh, flies tend to get swatted.”</p>
<p>“Thanks for the metaphor, but I think I got this—”</p>
<p>A log flung up into the air, nearly catching Tony in the stomach and forcing him to spin backward out of the way. </p>
<p>His helmet popped open as the back of the suit smacked against a tree trunk, and Rhodey sighed as he took in Tony’s not-at-all-deterred expression.</p>
<p>He didn’t expect him to be scared—they were past that by now, all of them were. After a certain amount of successful team missions and group meals that no one wanted to call picnics and accidental snowball fights (if they took Natasha’s word for it) and <em> honestly well-intentioned </em>arm-wrestling contests (that part was Thor. All Thor), it made the whole cowering-in-terror-and-calling-in-the-armed-helicopters thing pretty much obsolete. By now, they were used to the Hulk and the Hulk was used to them, but…</p>
<p>But. But the “big guy” as Tony called him, was still working primarily from id-level, and sometimes that meant dealing with the sudden release of a lot of anger—a lot of frustrated energy buildup that had to go <em> somewhere</em>. And the problem was, when that energy had to go through someone that big and muscled who could turn a pickup truck 2-D with a fist… it made a pretty hazardous environment for anybody relatively human-sized and shaped. </p>
<p>So, naturally, here they all were. </p>
<p>The three obeying-the-laws-of-gravity Avengers stood on Rhodey’s left in varying degrees of ready at attention: Steve hefting his shield, Natasha bracing into position, and Clint sifting through his quiver, hopefully not looking for that glitter arrow everyone had told him not to make. All three of them had snowflakes caught in their hair and pink in their cheeks. If Rhodey squinted, he could make out a blazing gold streak in the distance that was probably their incoming thunder god. </p>
<p>“Looks like you don’t got this,” Natasha observed as Tony wrestled himself out of the branches.</p>
<p>“Does anyone have any better ideas? Open floor here, people, hit me with it.” A pinecone tumbled loose and pinged off Tony’s helmet. “On second thought, maybe not so much <em> hit </em>, but… yeah, whatever you’ve got.”</p>
<p>Clint automatically took a step back.</p>
<p>Rhodey frowned. “Think we could knock him out?” He was careful to pitch his voice low enough to evade even gamma-enhanced hearing.</p>
<p>“That could go either very well or…” Steve paused. “Very not.”</p>
<p>“Well, we need options. I’m pretty sure he’s not fitting in the jet like this, and I’d advise <em> against </em> leaving him unsupervised.”</p>
<p>“Good call,” Tony put in. </p>
<p>Whatever smart-ass comment was about to come out of Natasha’s mouth was interrupted by Thor’s sudden arrival, because Thor was the kind of guy whose arrivals actually interrupted things. Everyone had to stop and ooh and ahh at the lightning and the rainbow and the cape billowing majestically in the wind and—yeah, it was always a whole<em> thing. </em></p>
<p>This time was no different, just faster. Thor’s boots hit the ground, he took in the situation (<em>team alive, mission success, Hulk in a bad mood, Tony in a tree</em>), and without missing a beat offered up his hammer. “I could—”</p>
<p>The emphatic chorus of “<em>No!</em>” nearly drowned out Rhodey’s “That’s what I said!” He would’ve offered a fist bump, but between the suit and the… the <em> Thor </em>, he couldn’t see that ending too well.</p>
<p>Something seemed to shift in the atmosphere just then. A redistribution of weight, maybe, or a held-in breath. Everyone tensed. </p>
<p>Optimistic Rhodey would point out that the mission was over and the list of potential life-threatening events had decreased drastically in the past twelve minutes. That the area was clear, the disaster was eliminated, and the quinjet was parked nearby and ready to take them home.</p>
<p>Rational Rhodey still had tentacled sludge-monster juice freezing over his helmet. </p>
<p>“Uh, guys,” Clint said warily. “Maybe we should quiet d—”</p>
<p>
  <em> WHAM. </em>
</p>
<p>A wave of snow crashed over them, kicked up as though the spray from an ice skate, but on a much bigger scale. An <em> incredibly </em> big scale—<em>this might actually qualify as an avalanche</em>, Rhodey thought as he kicked off from the ground, just barely avoiding the snowy barrage.</p>
<p>He would’ve been at least half buried already if it weren’t for the suit, and indeed; he could hear the distinctive sounds of surprised shouting, cursing, and the dull <em> ping-ping-ping </em> of frozen pebbles rattling against Steve’s shield. Everything was flurrying white back and forth, back and forth as the Hulk swept through the snowdrifts, and every so often some would puff into the air with a forceful <em> smack. </em></p>
<p>Whatever this particular grievance had started with, it had now ramped up to a point that was pretty… well, “precarious” was one word.</p>
<p>Rhodey winced as a cascade of ice chunks bounced off his suit; it was a reflex, even if he was perfectly protected inside his metal cocoon. He began to flick through his available functions—the ones that were less <em> lethal </em> and more <em> that’s gonna sting for a few days</em>—when suddenly, everything settled.</p>
<p>It wasn’t quite that fast, but it definitely felt that way in comparison to the rampaging around that seemed to have ground to a halt within moments. The air was quieter, the team was slowly rising from defensive positions, and the circle in the snow that had hosted the incredible roughhousing extravaganza was still and—dare he say it—peaceful, if more than a little splintered.</p>
<p>And at the center of that circle…</p>
<p>Rhodey looked, expecting to see the Hulk tired out at last, but no: those green eyes were still wide open, although his scowl had softened and he was sitting criss-cross-applesauce style on the ground.</p>
<p>His head was moving slowly, as though keeping time—as though <em> listening </em> to something, and that’s when Rhodey heard it: the low voice singing softly, barely able to be heard even in the newfound silence.</p>
<p>The tune was eerie, but oddly soothing, even if the words were in a language he didn’t know.</p>
<p>
  <em> Is that Russian? </em>
</p>
<p>As one, the team turned to face Natasha, who had climbed forward and up onto a rock, holding herself steady even with the occasional waver in her voice. She was staring directly at the Hulk, posture open, head tilted up even as her perch on the rock brought her nearly high enough to make up the difference, and she didn’t seem to be blinking.</p>
<p>And somehow, bizarrely, the Hulk was staring back, matching her stillness with visibly less ease as his gradually slowing breaths puffed out into the cold air. He let his eyes fall closed for half a moment before opening them again, and Rhodey had to agree.</p>
<p>Watching Natasha Romanoff, of all people, doing this was pretty captivating. </p>
<p>She continued the song for another minute, her eyes darting downward briefly as though calculating how much longer it would last, but there was no reason to worry. The Hulk had been settling down, and now he really <em> was </em> settling down, the muscles in his jaw finally relaxing and a tremble running through his huge body like an electric current. He collapsed inward, folding up into himself like origami until Bruce was standing there swaying.</p>
<p>He shivered, his words coming out in a mumble. “Hey, that was nice.”</p>
<p>He followed that up by immediately passing out.</p>
<p>Thor stepped forward mostly in time to catch him as Tony descended back to the ground.</p>
<p>“I guess we can declare that one a success.”</p>
<p>“Yeah.” Rhodey glanced at Natasha, who was sliding down off her rock and brushing snow off her uniform like she had done nothing more out of the ordinary than shovel the sidewalk. “And maybe you can explain whatever that was later.”</p>
<p>Natasha shrugged. “When I was younger, they used to—” She stopped. Brushed off more snow. “Anyway. I improvised.” She smiled. “I figured it was worth a shot.”</p>
<p>Rhodey nodded. “Huh.”</p>
<p>“What song was that, anyway?” Steve asked. He and Clint were both coated with snow in every place the shield couldn’t cover. Which, between the two of them, was a lot of places.</p>
<p>Natasha was completely deadpan. “‘Ra Ra Rasputin.’”</p>
<p>“<em>Really?</em>”</p>
<p>“No, are you kidding me?” Natasha shook her head as Clint started laughing. “Come on. Last one back to the jet—”</p>
<p>The words were barely out of her mouth before everybody was moving, and Rhodey had a split second to wonder if maybe they should replace Steve as team leader. Only a split second, though, because he and Tony were already shooting through the air and Clint seemed to be trying to persuade Thor to give him a lift and Steve let out a sigh before breaking into a run for all he had—which was, to put it in scientific terms, lots. </p>
<p>He didn’t know how Natasha was planning on making her way back, but then again, she was the only one of them who actually knew where the quinjet was parked, so he wouldn’t count her out just yet.</p>
<p>No, the race would come down to Rhodey and Tony—nobody else could fly besides Thor, and he was carrying bonus teammates—and Rhodey wasn’t here to play around.</p>
<p>Tony was oh so definitely aware of this; Rhodey could practically see his smirk through the red and gold helmet as they zipped in near tandem over the tree line and into the open air. “You’re on?”</p>
<p>“Bring it,” Rhodey called back.</p>
<p>He and Tony looped each other as snowflakes began to cover the remains of the battlefield.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor had been intending to move from the couch for some time now. At least for thirty minutes, since his hair was starting to dry, but not much longer than that, since it was still light outside. He didn’t even have to tilt his head to confirm that; the windows in this tower were unnecessarily large, and there were disturbingly few gaps in between them. On Asgard, if they wanted that much open viewable space, they would simply forgo the glass altogether. </p>
<p>Lack of glass also made places more flying-accessible, which one would <em> assume </em> would be a desirable architectural advantage for someone who flew around in a big clunky metal suit on a regular basis, but the couple of times Thor had brought it up, Tony had just muttered something about Europeans and their screenless windows before returning his attentions to the coffeemaker. </p>
<p>(Which… Thor was not that, not even a little bit, but he was also used to the misconception brought on by fun human things like regional accents and whatever the average person off the street could rattle off about the origins of Norse mythology. When he was in armor and throwing off lightning bolts, people did seem to grasp the whole alien thing, but once he was in civilian clothes and just trying to buy a popsicle, that seemed to fly out the window).</p>
<p>(As much as anything could fly out the window in this weird place with weird glass blocking up their weird huge windows).</p>
<p>Thor’s arm was pinned behind his head, and he shifted around to free it. Blood slowly tingled back into his fingertips. He really had been meaning to get up, but the longer he stayed here, the less attractive that option appeared, and really, what did his room have that this couch didn’t?</p>
<p>Everyone else had apparently had the same idea, to judge from the surrounding area that could probably set a record for Most Superheroes in a Ten-Foot Radius Not Actively Trying to Kill One Another.</p>
<p>Their last mission had been the previous night, so theoretically they’d had some time to recover since, but this one had been less fly-over-here-shoot-the-stuff-and-call-it-a-day and more repeatedly-thrown-against-a-very-hard-solid-surface-with-heavy-stuff-falling-on-top-of-you-because-apparently-today’s-bad-guy-has-earthquake-powers-and-this-planet-really-sucks. Also screaming. </p>
<p>(There had been a lot of half-jokes, half-complaining about supervillains not even taking the holidays off. Then somebody had suggested that maybe the supervillains had been counting on the <em> Avengers </em> taking the holidays off—to a round of laughter).</p>
<p>Thor himself hadn’t taken that much of a hit, but everyone else had been all but dead on their feet by the time they’d stumbled back into the tower early that morning (Steve hadn’t even taken his helmet off before his head hit a pillow, which—<em> ouch</em>). </p>
<p>There just weren’t many spaces to sleep on missions that weren’t a seat on the quinjet, the floor on the quinjet, or each others’ laps. There <em> was </em>the miniature infirmary-type cot that could be folded out, but as delightfully horizontal and bed-shaped as it was, it was still a Tony Stark invention and as such tended to include tricky little robots that poked at you whenever you tried to lie down—and those things poked hard enough to draw blood.</p>
<p>(“<em>Well, yeah,” </em> Tony had said. “<em>It’s a medical checkup device.</em>”</p>
<p>Thor needed to stop talking to Tony).</p>
<p>By now, everyone had at least closed their eyes for longer than a blink—and several of them had ingested enough caffeine to make up the difference—but they were still all <em> here</em>, stretched out over the couches and clumped together as though attempting to invoke safety in numbers.</p>
<p>Or maybe they were just bored. </p>
<p>This was where they had ended up after they were done wrestling out of roughened and stained suits, denying that they needed medical attention and faking it well enough that nobody bothered to pester them about it, arguing, apologizing for arguing, heading off to take a shower, coming back, and arguing some more. </p>
<p>Like moths to a flame, even if the campfire they were now gathered around was less a campfire and more a very angular and minimalistic black coffee table. </p>
<p>It was December twenty-third. Maybe that had something to do with it. </p>
<p>Thor might’ve been new to the whole idea, but Christmas-as-celebrated-in-twenty-first-century-New-York-City was somehow one of the concepts of living on Earth that everybody had been in the greatest hurry to explain to him. </p>
<p>After podcasts.</p>
<p>And Daylight Savings Time.</p>
<p>
  <em> What is it with humans and podcasts and Daylight Savings Time? </em>
</p>
<p>And whatever the Avengers’ personal relationships with major holidays, it had been a silent and unanimous decision that they would do <em> something… </em> but then responsibilities and priorities and “Avengers Assemble”-ities, and by now the <em> something </em> had amounted to the white plastic tree in the corner with tiny blue lights that reminded Thor of spider eyes, a pile of something in tangled greenish cords kicked in the corner when nobody had wanted to put in the effort to hang it up, and a terrifyingly ugly elf doll that Tony had dug out from somewhere and that Rhodey had threatened to throw away at least half a dozen times.</p>
<p>They had baked cookies, last week. Steve’s idea, with everybody else in various degrees of helping that ranged from Rhodey actually knowing what he was doing (the phrase “just trust me” being put to good use), to Bruce and Clint starting out strong before devolving into squirting the extra frosting at each other, to Natasha blatantly stealing ingredients out from under them, to Tony being outright banned from the kitchen after ten minutes. Surprisingly, the gingerbread men had ended up decent, even if they were about twice the size and thickness than Thor was pretty sure they were supposed to be.</p>
<p>Judging from a look around the room, though, the team would likely all want company regardless of the date on the calendar.</p>
<p>Thor was sitting next to Bruce, the two of them having claimed one of the couches to themselves but using up much less of the space than they could have. He was letting Bruce use him as a pillow under the pretense that he was tired from last night’s Hulk-out, but really he just didn’t like to say no when Bruce looked at him like that.</p>
<p>(“<em>Like </em> what,” a deeply frustrated Clint had asked once. “<em>That’s just his </em> face<em>, Thor. </em>”</p>
<p>Thor had refused to respond to that).</p>
<p>Across from them, Tony and Rhodey were flopped over the other couch, their legs entangled where Tony’s were thrown halfway over Rhodey’s lap. Their position was only stopped from being a full-on embrace by Tony twisting sideways to continue his latest clash with Steve—one that could easily have been over by now, but Natasha kept leaning over from her own armchair to rile them up again.</p>
<p>Clint was flat on his back on the floor. Nobody was sure why he was there, but he seemed comfy enough, so they’d let him be.</p>
<p>Whatever Steve and Tony were going on at each other about—something about the mission, from the sound of it, and hadn’t they had enough of that already?—it had expanded by now to include Rhodey and Natasha, although none of them seemed to be taking it really seriously anymore.</p>
<p>“—and, listen, I’ll believe a lot of things, but there is no way you could’ve done that without breaking the sound barrier.”</p>
<p>“I guess that’s for you to find out, then.”</p>
<p>“Oh, do you want to bring science into this now, because we can absolutely do that—Rhodey, back me up—”</p>
<p>“Hey, all I want to know is why you thought that plan would <em> work. </em> We could’ve been saved about an hour and a half if someone had taken into account that adding that much pressure to an already unstable—”</p>
<p>“I was just following the instructions I got—”</p>
<p>“You’re the captain, don’t you give the instructions?”</p>
<p>“—from S.H.I.E.L.D.”</p>
<p>“Pretty sure S.H.I.E.L.D. policy doesn’t let singular agents risk a potential disturbance that large, especially not when backup’s en route. And <em> especially </em>especially when some of the backup has an indestructible hammer that could’ve cleared the way without the whole thing imploding.”</p>
<p>“... thanks, Romanoff.”</p>
<p>Natasha grinned. “You’re welcome.”</p>
<p>Steve seemed to consider his options for a minute. “Listen, I can pull up the file of the instructions I had, okay?”</p>
<p>“Okay!” Tony nodded.</p>
<p>“And then maybe someone here will believe me.”</p>
<p>“I guess we will.”</p>
<p>“C’mon, Cap,” Rhodey said, leaning back as though he were about to watch a movie.</p>
<p>“I’m <em> getting </em> it, hang on.”</p>
<p>Natasha leaned over to mutter something to Rhodey, and both of them laughed. Tony watched as Steve poked at his phone. </p>
<p>
  <em> Tap. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Tap. </em>
</p>
<p>And suddenly Mariah Carey was blasting through the room.</p>
<p>It wasn’t enough to startle everybody into battle positions, but it was close—even Bruce cracked open one eye.</p>
<p>Steve’s eyes shot wide and he started fumbling around with the phone again. “Ack—must’ve opened iTunes instead of—hold on—” <em> Taptaptaptaptap. </em></p>
<p>Rhodey had to raise his voice to be heard over the music. “Really, man?”</p>
<p>Beside him, Natasha’s mouth was twitching.</p>
<p>“I heard it playing a lot in stores,” Steve mumbled. “Not knowing the words was driving me crazy.”</p>
<p>He paused for a moment, and then a smile curved over his face as he slipped the phone back into his pocket without turning the music off. </p>
<p>Thor suppressed a laugh of his own as Steve leaned back, arms behind his head and carefully controlling his expression to pretend he didn’t notice a thing as his pocket practically trembled from the volume.</p>
<p>Assorted groans filled the room, and Natasha deliberately put her hands over he ears, but it wasn’t enough to block out the sound of jingling bells and the gradually ascending beat. </p>
<p>Clint was going to have trouble breathing in a few seconds if he kept laughing that hard.</p>
<p>The song flourished its way into the chorus—<em> oh, that’s right, I’ve heard this before— </em>and it was then that Thor heard it, from right up against his chest… Bruce singing.</p>
<p>Absentmindedly, yes, still partly asleep and clearly not thinking about it, yes, but it was impossible to deny when he mumbled along with the “<em>Make my wish come true—”  </em></p>
<p>Eyebrows raised all around, and Bruce’s eyes opened at the same time his mouth closed, but Tony had already pounced on it.</p>
<p>“Ah, <em> what </em> was that, Banner?”</p>
<p>Rhodey murmured something that sounded like <em> oh dear god. </em></p>
<p>Bruce blinked up at Tony, visibly working hard to keep a straight face. “What?”</p>
<p>“What?” Tony shot back almost instantly.</p>
<p>There was a beat.</p>
<p>Nobody moved.</p>
<p>Not a muscle.</p>
<p>From the floor, Clint cupped his hands around his mouth and crooned out “<em>All I want for Christmas—</em>” and that was it; there was no going back.</p>
<p>Tony’s mouth split into a grin as Bruce buried his face in Thor’s shoulder, and then he was jumping off the couch and pulling Rhodey up after him to dance. It was the most ridiculous thing Thor had ever seen—or it should’ve been, had Tony not been possessed with an equally ridiculous amount of confidence. </p>
<p>It turned out to be a chain reaction—they were right in that critical point where they were just physically recovered enough from the mission, but their barriers were still lowered enough to…</p>
<p>Well. To do that.</p>
<p>Rhodey was clearly reluctant at first, crossing his arms over his chest and resisting Tony’s attempts to puppet him side to side, but he gave in and got into it right as Clint and Natasha jumped up themselves. None of them were actually dancing to the beat, but they were close enough—and besides, they made up for it with enthusiasm. Even if Natasha was pretending to play it cool, she gave herself away by matching Clint’s discordant lip-synching word for word as they rocked back and forth. It was a nice image: for once, the spy could blow her cover and the archer could be off-target.</p>
<p>Thor hummed along himself, shooting a meaningful look at Bruce, who caught on right away.</p>
<p>“Uh-uh, no way,” he said. “What are you—stop smiling like that, Thor—”</p>
<p>“I’m smiling like this because you’re being remarkably unconvincing.”</p>
<p>Bruce shook his head.</p>
<p>Thor nodded.</p>
<p>Bruce shook his head.</p>
<p>Thor nodded. </p>
<p>Bruce shook his head.</p>
<p>“Come on, Banner, even Steve is dancing now.” Thor spared a quick glance away from Bruce to see what was happening on the impromptu dance floor. “Or doing what he thinks is dancing, at least.”</p>
<p>Bruce laughed at that, and only hesitated for another second before allowing Thor to pull him up.</p>
<p>“Knew it.”</p>
<p>“Shut up.” But Bruce was smiling openly now, wider as Rhodey called out “They got you too? Is no one safe?” over the still-pounding music.</p>
<p>Thor returned it, stepping away from the couch and closer into the center of the room for more space.</p>
<p>Which is when he ran into a problem.</p>
<p>Thor had been on Earth for a good amount of time by now, but somehow hadn’t considered that the formal training he’d received as a prince of Asgard would be <em> highly </em> incompatible with any kind of dancing Bruce had ever done in his life.</p>
<p>Bruce seemed to come to the same conclusion. “So, I have no idea what I’m doing,” he offered. </p>
<p>Thor winced as Bruce stepped on his foot. “We’ll figure it out. Maybe if we—”</p>
<p>“Stop overthinking it!” That was Tony, doing a kind of step-hop thing over to them. </p>
<p>“Or keep doing that,” Rhodey broke in. “Remember, JARVIS is always filming.”</p>
<p>“Hey. Not helpful.”</p>
<p>The brief, fleeting instinct to stick out his tongue darted through Thor’s mind, but it was quickly replaced by others: the sight of his teammates dancing around amid the haphazard Christmas decorations, nearly glowing even as the windows darkened; the soft weight of a T-shirt instead of heavy armor weighing down his shoulders; the touch of air shifted by moving bodies, of the occasional wayward knee, of Bruce’s hand against his wrist; and the sound—of course, the sound—but not just of the music, of laughter and the creak of furniture and the bursts of lyrics that didn’t quite fit.</p>
<p>And so—horror of horrors, bringing shame on the line of Odin, and all the rest—he took Tony’s advice. Stopped overthinking. And relaxed into it.</p>
<p>And it was <em> fun. </em></p>
<p>Bruce followed his lead, barely starting to move before immediately backing into Clint.</p>
<p>“Hey! I’m walking here!”</p>
<p>Natasha shoved him. “Stop that, you live in Missouri.”</p>
<p>Clint grinned. “I live in the moment.”</p>
<p>“You’re full of bad comebacks today, huh.” Tony observed. “Does the court hear any objections to kicking him out? Anyone?”</p>
<p>“I second that motion,” Rhodey volunteered.</p>
<p>“I think you’re just jealous of my moves.” Clint promptly tripped over the table leg. He popped back up almost immediately, calling, “Bruce’s fault!”</p>
<p>“Did you know,” Steve said to no one in particular. He was still doing a sort of side-to-side shuffling-swinging motion that might’ve fit the song if the song had been playing from, say, a vacuum cleaner instead of a cell phone. “That in below-thirty-degree water, death by exposure can take less than an hour?”</p>
<p>His straight face wavered as the others turned to him, but he kept going. “That’s assuming there’s enough air to avoid drowning first, and that after seventy years—”</p>
<p>“Don’t even pretend you’re not enjoying this, Cap,” Tony interrupted, grinning as Steve’s head bobbed.</p>
<p>And they were—all of them were, and only a quick glance around the room was enough to confirm it. Everyone looked like they were having the time of their lives, their faces positively lit up and singing along to whatever lyrics they knew or felt like (For Clint it was all of them, for Bruce it was none of them, and Tony kept poking at Rhodey until he monotoned out a “<em>I just want you for my own</em>” to cheers). Thor was pretty sure that at one point, Tony’s voice went higher than Natasha’s.</p>
<p>Clint and Natasha were over by the tree, the tiny blue lights reflecting off the whirl of black clothes as Clint reached out to spin Natasha in a move that was oddly graceful.</p>
<p>Maybe not so odd, considering <em> Natasha</em>, but then again, maybe so odd, considering <em> Clint. </em></p>
<p>Steve was hovering nearby, and once they were done, he shyly offered a hand.</p>
<p>Natasha grinned, and then the next moment Steve was ducking to awkwardly twirl underneath her outstretched arm.</p>
<p>Tony was the one who had started this, and he still had the most enthusiasm, but who knew what combination of those factors were at play when he wrapped an arm around Rhodey’s back and dipped him so low that his head nearly smacked into the coffee table.</p>
<p>Thor was surprised when Rhodey actually came up smiling—like this was something they’d done before. Which, knowing the two of them—and indeed, Rhodey was now mumbling something to Tony, the both of them laughing—they almost definitely had.</p>
<p>Bruce was watching them too, his head tilted with interest. Thor’s mouth was opening to ask when suddenly a pair of hands curled around his back and he was being slung downward, his hair brushing the carpet and a shy voice above him mumbling, “This okay?”</p>
<p>It was perhaps the biggest rush Thor had felt in centuries, and he had just been <em> swept off his feet </em> as though… as though someone who <em> wasn’t </em> the mightiest warrior in the Nine Realms, and his field of view was currently hole-punched into one Bruce Banner, and of course this was okay, this was maybe the most okay—</p>
<p>—when he felt himself slip a little too far, and the arms around him were a little too late to adjust, and then he was flat on the floor with a very-surprised-and-already-apologetic Bruce on top of him.</p>
<p>“I… thought that would work,” Bruce said after a few seconds. Neither of them quite had the breath knocked out of them, but for once they were staring into each other’s eyes merely because there was nowhere else to look. He pushed himself up, his chest rising a few inches away from Thor’s. “Guess I forgot, you know, gravity.”</p>
<p>“As far as I can tell,” Thor replied, and okay, maybe he was a little breathless, but it wasn’t from the fall— “That worked fine.”</p>
<p>He shifted around, vaguely trying to sit up, and Bruce was doing the same now and <em> huh what a position this is we’ve landed in— </em></p>
<p>“Really, guys?” And there was Clint. His voice somehow sounded like it was coming from farther away than it was. “We’re in a living room.”</p>
<p>Thor lifted his head and didn’t dignify a response, but he broke out smiling again as Bruce offered a second try.</p>
<p>They used that second try, and a third, and a fourth, but Thor was too tall and Bruce was too short and somehow the balance that never failed them through countless battles and flights and superpowered leaps from rooftop to rooftop in the nick of time had completely abandoned them when it came to something as simple as a dip.</p>
<p>“Maybe you two should switch places,” Rhodey suggested after that fourth try.</p>
<p>“No, no, that’s not necessary!”</p>
<p>“Yeah, we got it!”</p>
<p>And they did get it, after a couple more tries, because apparently Bruce was perfectly capable of supporting Thor’s entire weight in his arms and why had they never figured this out before—</p>
<p>Thor let himself sink down into a kneel before standing up again. The song was still playing, even though there was no way it was this long, and maybe JARVIS had looped it when nobody was paying attention, but that was the furthest thing from his mind as he let his hand slide into Bruce’s and they began an almost unconscious slow rotating around the room. It wasn’t difficult, which was fortunate, as most of his attention was currently otherwise occupied.</p>
<p>He could feel the blood starting to settle back down from his head. “You’re sure you don’t want to practice that one more time?”</p>
<p>“I will <em> definitely </em> drop you if we practice that one more time.” Bruce’s hand was still around his back; they were kind of moving back and forth in a motion that could <em> probably </em> be called dancing. </p>
<p>The words of the song faded back to a low thudding rhythm as the final chorus gradually died out, but it didn’t feel awkward at all. Nothing could’ve felt more natural, in fact: the fluttering snow on the other side of the darkened windows, the mismatched decorations that now seemed less <em> haywire </em> and more <em> homey </em>, the teammates unwinding and truly enjoying themselves for the first time in altogether too long, and the warmth of another body against his own.</p>
<p>“Look what you’ve started,” Thor finally murmured, and the words didn’t even hold half the sarcasm he’d meant.</p>
<p>“I’ve created a monster,” Bruce agreed. “A very Christmas-y one.”</p>
<p>“True—all we need is mistletoe.”</p>
<p>Bruce’s expression was nothing short of mischievous. “Who says we need it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>December had held true—it was nearly black outside, save the whirl of snowflakes, by the time the music finally ended. It hadn’t been the same song all the way through: JARVIS had obligingly swapped in and out a few other selections, including several that Tony fervently denied having any part in choosing, and time had passed before they’d even realized it.</p>
<p>Natasha was perched up on the backrest of the couch, her legs on the seat. It was the perfect vantage point to watch the rest of the room, especially as she was one of the last few left awake.</p>
<p>(She planned to be <em> the </em> last, but it would be a few more hours yet before exhaustion could overcome, say, the super soldier serum).</p>
<p>The first ones to admit defeat had been Tony and Rhodey, who seemed to have fused into one person by now. She would’ve told them to get a room if they hadn’t both been completely passed out cold. The hollow of Tony’s neck cupped Rhodey’s head as they pressed into each other, breathing softly.</p>
<p>Thor and Bruce were either asleep or really really really close to it, lying horizontally in a heap on the couch and <em> how is Bruce not completely squished? </em> </p>
<p>Every time Natasha thought they were really asleep this time, one of them would move or shuffle around or whisper to the other one, and she wondered how they ever slept normally if it turned into a slumber party every time they shared a sleeping space.</p>
<p>The only other two still firmly awake were Clint and Steve, who were flopped over the opposite couch, their socked feet edging for space on the coffee table. Clint was showing Steve something on his phone, and both of them were giggling.</p>
<p>Involuntarily, Natasha felt a smile creep up on her face.</p>
<p>This shouldn’t have been possible, the way that it was. It shouldn’t have been possible for lives spent in Viking space castles and rich-kid penthouses and out-of-the-way corners and military bases and city streets and <em> literal circuses </em> and rooms that weren’t really for learning ballet to fit together so well—and not effortlessly either, but they <em> had </em> fit.</p>
<p>The gaps were inconceivably large, but—somehow—they were bridging them.<br/><br/><br/></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried to go for songs that I thought would be more easily recognizable, but just in case, here is a list in order:</p>
<p>What Makes You Beautiful, by One Direction (I had to look this one up, but I chose it basically after listening to the what makes you haha parody and losing my shit)<br/>I Will Survive, by Gloria Gaynor<br/>Star-Spangled Man With a Plan, from the first Cap movie<br/>Holding Out for a Hero, from the musical Footloose<br/>All I Want for Christmas is You, by Mariah Carey</p>
<p>The songs themselves aren't really that important to the fic, it's more about this bunch of characters just coming together and learning to be more comfortable around one another. because friendship. :)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>